Night Hawks
by TheRealEatsShootsAndLeaves
Summary: This is a AU parody of 40's film noir and pulp fiction featuring our favorite Labyrinth characters.
1. Prologue: The Cafe

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

_The M rating is a result of some adult themes and His Royal Person being subjected to some grabby hands in chapter four. (Don't skip ahead! For shame!)_

_This is a parody of 40's film noir and pulp fiction inspired by a series of emails between myself and Ellen Weaver, who is the author of the excellent and frightening Exile from the Labyrinth: The Lament Configuration and the also excellent and frightening Labyrinth: Kingdom Come. (Go read them if you're a grownup.)_

_The Café is based on Edward Hopper's painting Night Hawks._

_This is strictly for laughs, hence the general silliness and the occasional absurdly over-the-top descriptions as you would find in particularly bad "hard-bitten" crime novels. I appreciate any constructive criticism, particularly concerning continuity, one of my weakest skills._

_Enjoy._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Prologue

The Café

It was just another dump during the day, serving up greasy eggs and toast in the morning, stale sandwiches at lunchtime, tasteless meatloaf during the supper hour and foul, bitter coffee all day long. Anonymous customers trailed in and out, barely making eye contact while sitting at the long counters, choking down enough unpleasant fuel to propel the body forward for another few hours. The counterman looked right through them, seeing only hungry mouths and tips. The daytime was mundane and safe, but the night was awake and dangerous. The night crowd was starved and ate fries because they couldn't have blood. The night crowd was thirsty for power but they settled for caffeine. The Café belonged to the night crowd.

The sun was just setting as a small barn owl touched down on the sidewalk. The owl shook itself and then became… something else. The little bell over the door rang when the slender fae with bizarre, unevenly chopped yellow hair and pale, sleek skin came in. He looked expensive. He was wearing a navy pinstriped Zoot suit with a snappy hat and a snappy feather in his hatband. Silver chains hung from his pocket. The cuffs of his pants draped at the perfect angle at his gleaming patent leather shoes. The magnificent blue tie at the throat of his white silk shirt matched the suspenders that peeked from beneath his coat. His eyebrows swept up and dark markings surrounded his beautiful eyes with the oddly asymmetrical blue irises and exquisitely long, dark lashes. He was incredibly handsome and he was smugly aware of it. He paused at the door and struck a pose, hands in his pockets, hips thrust forward to advertise his tremendous personality.

He ducked his head under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and sat down on a barstool at the chipped Formica counter, He quickly took in his surroundings.

The Café was in an unusually shaped triangular building on the intersection of a sharp corner. Two walls of the building were glass. The Formica countertop formed an acutely angled L-shape. The coffee urns and cooking equipment were arrayed on the back wall, where a solitary counterman held court, serving up coffee and food to his customers.

Two stools down from the Zoot suit fellow, a massive orange furred creature in a business suit sipped coffee while reading the evening paper. Three stools farther down, a roguish fox wearing a green gabardine suit and sporting an eye patch looked at his watch and wondered if his sandwich would arrive before he had to leave.

On the opposing counter, an attractive dark haired woman dressed in red declined to meet Zoot Suit's eye while sipping her coffee and consulting a small notepad. She was the kind of dame that made a man forget to breathe and so he forgot to breathe for a moment. She was also the kind of dame who would slap you if you called her a dame. He rubbed the side of his face while he fondly remembered that exciting encounter.

Zoot Suit's eyes narrowed when his gaze fell upon the last figure; a dwarf who was looking back at him with sweat on his brow and fear in his eyes. He glared at the dwarf like a spider glares at a badly behaved fly. The dwarf's nerves failed and he leapt off the bar stool and scurried out the back door to the café.

The slender yellow-haired man briefly considered following the dwarf, but then remembered the dark haired woman. The dwarf could wait. He ordered coffee and tried to catch her eye.

She turned the page to her notebook and took another sip of coffee. She knew the skinny jerk was there. He could just sit there and cool his heels. Jerk.


	2. Chapter 1: Solving the Hoggle Problem

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Chapter One

Solving the Hoggle Problem

Problems always seem bigger in the dark. Hoggle's problems were growing with the twilight and the sodium streetlights' jaundiced yellow glow was only making things worse. The dwarf was walking briskly away from The Café with his coat pulled tight around him, collar turned up and hat brim tipped down. His highly polished two-toned wingtips clicked on the cracked and weathered sidewalk as the streetlights turned his bright white hatband to urine-yellow. Hoggle had big problems.

His nerves were getting the better of him, and who could blame him? He still wasn't sure how he had gotten himself into this position. Hoggle certainly couldn't help that he liked nice things, could he? He held up his hands and inspected the rings on his fingers; big chunky gold bling with impressive stones and ornate settings. He clenched his fists and shook his head. A fellow should have nice things. A fellow should be wearing nice pinstripes instead of some old cast-off rags. A fellow should be wearing a nice grey homburg instead of some ratty little cap. A fellow should have nice wingtip oxfords instead of old clodhoppers. A fellow should have enough bling to catch the eyes of the ladies. A fellow should be living in a nice apartment instead of some old shack. A fellow should have nice things.

Hoggle was pretty sure he shouldn't go back to his nice apartment. The Rat was well aware of Hoggle's current address. Hoggle's old shack was occupied by a bunch of reefer smoking goblins now and while they would certainly welcome him in ("Got any herbs, man?), they would also quickly inform The Rat. He needed to get off the streets, but where could he go? For the present, he would have to keep moving and hope he didn't run across any of The Rat's henchmen.

He feverishly pondered his options as he hurried along. His former friend, The Enforcer, likely would not want to help him and might, in fact, cause serious problems for Hoggle. His unfortunate betrayals had worn the behemoth's patience thin and he declined to disturb The Rat's Enforcer.

While he bore no malice toward Hoggle, The One-Eyed Pimp would be even less help. While The Pimp would happily assist Hoggle, he did not live alone and word would quickly spread concerning Hoggle's whereabouts.

That only left the girl. She was a forgiving sort, particularly since Hoggle had been… of assistance to her on several occasions. Unfortunately, it was a treacherous route to her door.

Hoggle paused and glanced quickly to the left and right as he came to a corner. He had been walking in random directions for more than an hour. It was full dark now and a neon sign on the opposite corner advertised "The Peach Pit" where mostly-naked females of various species gyrated within. Hoggle stared at the sign in horror, realizing he should have been paying more attention to where he was going in his preoccupied rambling. The Peach Pit belonged to The Rat. Hoggle shrugged down, hiding in his upturned collar and turned around to beat a hasty retreat.

"Where ya goin', pal?"

Hoggle froze in terror. Two large specimens, clad in well-cut business suits stood before him. A click and scrape on the sidewalk behind alerted him to the presence of additional beings a mere second before his arms were seized by rough hands.

"How coinky-dinkle of yous to be perambulatin' down dis 'ere pa'ticklar street, Mr. Hog-tied," offered one of the large specimens. Hoggle could now see that the large specimens were trolls, big trolls, and rather human looking trolls at that. Aside from the greenish hue of their rough and pockmarked skin, and of course, the red irises of their eyes, they looked much like stereotypical, Hollywood, 40's gangsters that would ice their own grandmothers for a dollar, would be expected to appear.

"It's Hoggle," he replied in a subdued voice.

"I'd say it's going to be Pork Chops by the time the evening's over," replied the second troll with a grin as shiny and frightening as a Studebaker's dented chrome grille approaching at a hundred miles an hour.

Hoggle gulped and meekly accompanied the quartet of trolls as they made their way across the pavement to the scuffed and peeled-paint door of the Peach Pit.

"Right this 'ere way, Mr. Hog-butt," said Troll Number One with a smile like a crocodile sitting in front of a plate of chocolate covered chickens, as he held the door for Hoggle and his decidedly un-gentle captors.

"Watch your step, Bacon Bits," said Troll Number Two.

Hoggle was ushered through a short hallway into a room of neon light and raucous noise. The part of Hoggle that liked nice things couldn't help notice the gilt and glitter trimming the ornate columns around the raised stage where a sparsely clad lavender skinned nymph danced a passable, albeit slowly paced, lindy hop all by herself. An appreciatively hooting and cackling crowd of assorted beings applauded her efforts, as scantily dressed waitresses dispensed flagons and mugs of ale.

A three piece band consisting of nattily dressed goblins with a drum set, a bass and an upright piano provided an astonishingly tight and tidy backdrop for the nymph's exertions. The elderly female goblin playing the piano was stomping a jingle bell bedecked leg while singing a little song about not sharing her jellyroll. The drummer with frizzled red hair and chains on his feet was keeping time on the snares. The bass player was only about two thirds the height of his instrument and stood on a small stool to reach the frets. The openings into the hollow body of the bass fiddle were stuffed with crumpled paper money of various colors and origins.

Hoggle stared at the bass with avaricious eyes; the sight of all that cash temporarily blinding him to his dire situation. Most skin dives didn't spend the money for live music. Leave it to The Rat to have all the nice little extras.

"Come on, yous," said Troll One walking past the spectacle without a glance. Hoggle's escorts hustled him along toward the back of the room and into a grey stoned hallway. They proceeded along the hall until they reached a hefty, roughhewn, wooden door with a sullen, sentient, doorknocker.

Troll Number One spoke to the knocker. "Open up, we needs to see da boss."

The bronze faced knocker glared at him. "O uck urvelv," gargled the knocker around the large ring hanging from its mouth.

"How would you like to be sheet metal?" asked Troll Number Two.

The knocker blanched to a brassy sheen and opened the door.

Hoggle was dragged unceremoniously through the door and deposited in a heap in front of a large wooden desk with a gleaming stone top. He looked up with extreme trepidation to see a dreaded figure sitting in an imposing leather clad chair. To Hoggle, he was The Rat; to those more fortunate, he was The King of the Underground, alias The Goblin King, alias The Royal Pain. No one dared to call The King by his given name. Well, almost no one.

The King stood up and walked around the desk. He was a striking presence, dressed in a navy blue, pinstriped Zoot suit. Elegant silver chains hung from his pockets down to well past his knees. A very nice blue tie and a bronze medallion graced his white silk shirt. Fluffy, golden hair of irregular length, caressed the wide shoulders of his immaculate suit. Odd, asymmetrical blue eyes blazed with rage from under the brim of his hat. The huge feather protruding from the hatband seemed to quiver with his anger. The King was justifiably proud of that big feather, He had grown it himself while in his owl form. He stopped in front of the trembling Hoggle, crossing his arms and placing one grey, silk-gloved fingertip on his chin. His elegantly shod foot tapped with irritation.

"Hello, Hog-in-the-bog," he menaced in a voice like straight bourbon poured over cracked ice.

Hoggle nearly fainted. Frantically gathering his wits, he scrambled to his feet and bowed before the King.

"Why Your Majesty," he simpered like a little girl at a tea party. "How nice to see you."

"You wouldn't be trying to avoid me, now would you?" purred The King.

"Of course not," said Hoggle. "I just had some business to attend to, then I was going to come right over."

"Would that business include telling someone about MY business," said The King in a tone as silky as a bride's inner thigh.

"NO!" gasped Hoggle in fright. "I would never…"

"You would absolutely, you little vermin!" roared the King in sudden outrage. He paused and continued in a deceptively soft manner. "You would tell my competitors about my business. You HAVE told my competitors about my business. You've cost me time and money with your careless tattling, Hog-soon-to-reek."

He stepped closer to Hoggle and kneeled down to eye level with the cringing dwarf.

"But I suppose a fellow should have nice things…"

Hoggle was shaking like a leaf on a paint mixing machine.

"I hope the enticements you received for betraying me were worth it," The King continued in soft tones. "But I'm most upset about some things, some stories, that you've been telling someone else. A certain young lady…"

"I've told her nothing!" screamed Hoggle, suddenly aware that things were much, much worse that he had thought.

"Nothing? Nothing?" said The King softly. Suddenly The King screamed right in Hoggle's face. "NOTHING?"

Hoggle was too scared to move. The King stared at him in silence for a moment and then flicked Hoggle's nose with a gloved finger.

"Tra la la," whispered The King. He stood and walked away, returning to his seat behind the desk.

"Handle this," said The King in a voice like a velvet covered sledge hammer.

The trolls stepped forward and gripped Hoggle's arms.

"Come along, Sausage Patty," said Troll Number Two.

Hoggle babbled and whined as the quartet of trolls trotted him out the back door and across the alley to the weedy gravel parking lot. He was hustled into the back of a black sedan that looked as if the factory where it was built had been scared by a crate of tin foil. The sedan had chrome like bunnies have fur.

Troll Number One took the wheel and guided the black car out of the parking lot. They drove for a long way. Trolls Three and Four sat silently on either side of Hoggle in the back seat. Troll Number Two was riding shotgun and he sat halfway turned in his seat to make the occasional threat to Hoggle in a companionable manner.

"So, Ribs, we'll be fitting you with some concrete shoes this evening. You like loafers?"

"Listen, Pork Nuggets, have you had any swimming lessons? Because they aren't going to help."

And finally, "So, Ham Slices, how long can you hold your breath?"

When they finally arrived at Municipal Sewage Treatment Plant Number Four, Hoggle was near petrified with fear. Trolls Three and Four dragged him from the back seat and marched him over to the fence surrounding a fetid pool.

Trolls One and Two hopped the low fence and grabbed Hoggle as Trolls Three and Four handed him over. The smell from the pool was getting serious.

Troll Three walked off into the darkness and in a few seconds returned with a couple of concrete blocks. With the assistance of Troll Four, he secured and locked Hoggle's feet onto the blocks with a couple of short lengths of chain.

"Dese are more like sandals, den shoes," said Troll Number One. The other trolls ignored him.

The quartet of trolls carried a loudly protesting Hoggle and his concrete footwear over to the stinking pool and unceremoniously dropped him in. He landed solidly on the bottom. The pool reached only to his knees.

"Start walkin'," said Troll Number One,

"What?" gagged Hoggle.

"To the other side," said Troll Number Two.

"What?" retched Hoggle.

"Don't be such a baby, it's only about two feet deep all the way across. It won't ever get any worse than neck deep," grinned Number Two. "Now get moving."

"It's gonna take forever with these concrete blocks," moaned Hoggle, with tears streaming from his half-closed, burning eyes.

"Dat's da whole point, idjit," said Troll Number One rolling his eyes.

The trolls retreated back across the fence and returned to the car. Trolls Three and Four pulled two lawn chairs from the back of the car and made themselves comfortable a safe smelling distance from the rancid pool. Trolls One and Two got into the sedan and drove away.

Hoggle sniffed and gagged. He laboriously lifted one foot and set it down. He had gained about six inches. The pool was about a hundred yards across. Trolls Three and Four smiled at him from a safe distance. He felt as sad as a snake looking at three miles of broken glass.


	3. Chapter 2: Fox in the Henhouse

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Chapter Two

The Fox in the Henhouse

Didymus had a way with the ladies. He kissed their hands and called them "My Lady" and held doors open for them. He gallantly defended their honor and guarded them against wise guys. He was always ready to take charge and be their protector. He was kind, generous and unfailingly true. In short, he was the Underground community of scarlet ladies' favorite pimp.

He had returned to the tastefully decorated main house of the Chicken Farm after an evening at the Café, bearing gifts of silk and brocade for his beloved ladies. He considered himself to be a valiant protector of innocent virtue. Didymus thought that the many boyfriends that came to the Chicken Farm were an indicator of the popularity and comeliness of the maidens that resided there. He believed that the money these boyfriends gave him was a result of their support of this charitable institute for orphaned young women. He believed that the ladies and their boyfriends retired to their rooms to play short games of Scrabble. Didymus was an idiot.

He was a useful idiot, however. With his foxy good looks and confident strut, Didymus was a striking figure in his fine, tailored, gabardine suit with feathered fedora, his rakish facial fur and intriguing eye patch. The fact that he openly carried a machine gun also contributed to his intimidating presence. The fact that the machine gun had no bullets in the belt was not immediately obvious and most folks dispersed at the first sight of the weapon before taking a second look at the belt. Despite his tales of daring, Didymus had never fired the machine gun and was oblivious to the fact that it was empty. Didymus was an idiot.

He was their idiot, though, and the ladies of the Chicken Farm told fanciful stories of his daring and dangerousness that gradually became legend, and that carefully cultivated legend protected them as well as an actual, competent, guardian would have. They gave him the name of The One-Eyed Pimp and the fame of their mythical knight spread far and wide. Didymus was considered by outsiders to be as dangerous as a rabid wolverine with a hangover and a chainsaw.

The One-Eyed Pimp took his duties seriously and the money placed in his paws by the boyfriends paid for food, shelter, extravagant clothing, jewelry and little fancies for his ladies. The money he lavished on his dear ladies went through his paws like Olestra potato chips through a dysenteric goose.

This happy state of affairs might have lasted indefinitely if it were not for the other denizens of the Chicken Farm. The Old Man knew precisely what sort of place the Chicken Farm was and so did his sentient Hat that spent its time mouthing off at the ladies. The Old Man was not as careful or as considerate with the money as Didymus and his investments were as rotten as an unidentified furry green item in a refrigerator in Denmark. Unfortunately for Didymus, the Old Man frequently involved Didymus' name, if not his knowledge, in his financial shenanigans.

Things at the Chicken Farm could have become ugly right quick except for the fact that the Old Man was in fact, extremely old, in fact he was too old to care, if you know what I mean. The Hat wasn't too old, and it tried to attract the ladies' attention by wearing snazzy ties. This had caused problems when the ties fell into the Old Man's eyes and he had insisted that the Hat confine itself to bowties. Unfortunately for the Hat, it merely consisted of a felt trilby with a mouthy bird head attached. It didn't constitute much of a threat and was soundly ignored by the Old Man, Didymus and the ladies. It was especially ignored by the ladies, who felt that a bowtie attached to the brim of a trilby hat looked ridiculous.

There were fifteen ladies residing at the Chicken Farm and they got along about as well as fifteen different beings from various fairy tale backgrounds and species could, which is to say, sometimes not that well.

On this night, a lady elf and a lady goblin had differences which had nearly come to blows when Didymus walked in with his fifteen silk scarves and fifteen brocade jackets in all the correct sizes and favorite colors.

Angelica the elf was staring down Emily the goblin. Angelica had made an unfortunate comment about goblin hairdressers which offended Emily mightily, considering Emily's father was both a goblin and a hairdresser. Emily had made some nasty personal comments about Angelica and the fight was on. Their boyfriends had been left to stew in the parlor while the ladies screamed at each other. In fact, all commercial activities had ceased for the duration of the conflict as all of the ladies and some of the boyfriends had decided to take in the fight.

Didymus was appalled at the unladylike behavior being displayed and gasped "My Ladies, contain yourselves." He was as startled as a dowager with an ice cube suddenly appearing in her girdle.

This unladylike fight was taking place in the kitchen. The flagstone kitchen was a cavernous room with a six burner gas range, double oven, triple bowl sink, two refrigerators, wine chiller, self-contained abattoir, attached herb garden, adjacent pantry and a walk-in freezer. The freezer was pertinent to the story because the door to that imposing facility was currently standing open so that Imelda, the multi-footed centipede girl, could get to the spiced pumpkin, non-fat, probiotic, sugar-free, frozen yogurt on the back shelf. She wanted to have a little snack while watching the fight.

By the time Didymus walked between the antagonists, the pushing and shoving had commenced. Angelica took a couple of steps back to gain momentum for the attack she was preparing to launch against the skinny goblin girl. Didymus stepped into the middle of the fray and was immediately doused with a pitcher of ice water wielded by Emily and then Angelica slammed into him. His participation in the fight lasted about three seconds. The sopping wet Didymus was propelled past Imelda into the freezer. He landed on the seat of his soaking wet gabardine trousers in the receiving tray of the gigantic, commercial grade ice dispenser… and stuck.

The battling ladies didn't even notice his predicament and continued their fight. They had the determined frenzy of an ant that had found a sugar cube laced with methamphetamines.

The Old Man and the sentient Hat finally appeared about then, drawn by the racket.

"What's going on here?" gruffed the Old Man. He hurriedly shuffled into the kitchen. The Hat's bird head was stretched up high to see the action. When the Hat's skull encountered the pans dangling from the elaborately scrolled pot holder, it let out a yowl.

"OWWW!" screeched the bird head and then its attention was caught by the shiny magnificence of the obviously expensive copper cook wear.

"COPPER!" the astonished Hat yelled with surprise and delight. It had never been in the kitchen and was not aware of the fine quality of the appurtenances therein.

All activity ceased for a split second as the word soaked into the crowded kitchen.

"IT'S THE COPS!" screamed Imelda. "Scram!"

The kitchen cleared in about five seconds. The boyfriends in the parlor were caught up in the stampede and the entire assembly charged out to the parking lot. They ran as if their tails were on fire and some skinny guy wearing makeup was putting them out with gasoline. Seven fender benders and a cloud of dust later, the parking lot was empty.

They need not have bothered. Didymus had never thought to mention his charitable donations to the policeman's fund, or the mayor's fund, or the city council's charitable concern. He was a kind and generous, civic minded soul who had no idea that he had paid enough protection money to see that the Chicken House would not suffer a raid for at least a hundred years. The One-Eyed Pimp was indeed the finest pimp ever to be seen in the Underground.

"My ladies?" called the confused and icebound Didymus from the open doorway of the freezer. "My ladies?"

_I apologize for the Olestra joke. It was both disgusting and anachronistic._


	4. Chapter 3: Ludo the Enforcer

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Chapter Three

Ludo the Enforcer

When Ludo walked into the Peach Pit, the musicians skipped a beat, the dancers missed a step and the customers caught their collective breath. A bystander, ignorant of the way things are, would not understand their trepidations. Ludo's demeanor was calm and affable, certainly not threatening. Ludo was a rock caller, but rock callers generally called rocks only for peaceful purposes, such as construction work. His tusks and horns were nothing unusual in this crowd. His large size and orange fur was not unusual enough to be frightening in and of itself. There were a lot of large furry beings in the Peach Pit. His somewhat ponderous movements held no more threat than the possibility of being accidently stepped upon. But the locals had reason for their nervousness. Ludo was The Enforcer for The King of the Underground.

Ludo had come to the Peach Pit that evening especially to see The King. He had received word from some of The King's trolls that The King had a job for him. He did not like the trolls that had brought the message. They were a couple of idiots in Ludo's opinion. The first troll was an idiot who fancied himself a Chicago-style gangster and the second troll was an idiot that liked to make ridiculous threats. Ludo considered threats to be foolish. Ludo understood the difference between threats and promises. Ludo always made promises.

Ludo made his way across the main room of the Peach Pit to the hallway at the back. He made his way to the heavy wooden door and said to the sullen, sentient door knocker, "Open up." The door knocker was smarter than it looked and so it said absolutely nothing and opened the door.

The King of the Underground was sitting in his massive leather chair with his feet propped up on his stone-topped desk. He looked up through feathery golden bangs as Ludo entered his office.

"Hello, Ludo," The King smiled. "I'm very glad to see you." The King looked as if he were a cat with fifty-one percent of the shares in a multi-state creamery consortium.

Ludo stood quietly in front of the desk. His jaw drooped open slightly, giving him a rather dim-witted air. His finely tailored suit made him look even more massive than he was. He held his hat in one huge hand. Ludo felt gentlemen should remove their hats indoors. He looked disapprovingly at the snappy Zoot hat perched on The King's fluffy head.

The King was not taken in by Ludo's appearance. The King knew Ludo was slow of speech, but quick in thought.

"I have a task for you," said The King, adjusting his gloves in an absent fashion. "Would you be interested in taking a trip over to the Chicken Farm?"

Ludo's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. The King sat quietly and waited.

"Chick'n Fawm?" Ludo said at last. He stood motionless but his heart was pounding like a humming bird playing a bass drum.

The King didn't answer for a moment. This could be tricky. Ludo had never refused an order before and The King was confident about Ludo's loyalty, but this was a delicate matter and if Ludo outright refused to go, things might get… interesting.

"Yes, there is a small matter of money being owed to myself by The Old Man," The King of the Underground said in tones so cool that butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth if that butter had been coated with creosote and set aflame.

"Old Man?" asked Ludo.

"Yes, The Old Man. I have no interest in The Pimp," said The King, while pretending to be very interested in his gloves.

Ludo relaxed a bit. If he didn't have to deal with The Pimp, he had no objections. He had no love lost on The Old Man or his hat either, but things would be simpler if The Pimp were not involved.

The King saw Ludo's change in demeanor and relaxed a bit himself.

"Yes," he said. "The Old Man owes five grand. I want all of it tonight. Or his hat. Your choice," The King smiled, showing teeth like a shark that did commercials for Colgate.

Ludo said nothing, but simply nodded and turned to lumber out the door. The King sighed in relief when the door closed behind Ludo. He hoped Ludo wouldn't be too upset when he discovered that half of the money was owed by The One-Eyed Pimp.

Ludo left the Peach Pit and headed down the street to where his car was parked. Ludo drove a land yacht of a Buick, with white wall tires and lots of chrome. He checked the back seat for intruders before getting into the car. Ludo was familiar with all of the urban legends and figured better safe than sorry. He would have been surprised to know that not only the back seat of his car, but also the front seat of his car, and most especially the trunk of his car, was regarded with dread by nearly every being in the Underground and the threat of an intruder was utterly non-existent. He adjusted the rear view mirror and then drove away.

Half an hour later, he was turning into the long driveway of the Chicken Farm. It was near midnight and all good little chickens would long be in bed by now. Bad little chickens would be wide awake and doing business. As he reached the end of the driveway, he could see that the parking lot was deserted. That was very unusual. He could also see that the front door stood wide open and no one appeared to be around. That was ominous. Ludo was suddenly as wary as a cucumber in a roomful of pickles.

He exited the car and carefully walked to the front door of the big house. He peered in and could see no immediate threat. He tilted his head and listened. Far back in the depths of the house he could hear a voice.

"Ladies? Ladies? Are you safe?" called Didymus.

Ludo tensed. It was the One-Eyed Pimp.

Ludo wondered whether it was prudent to confront the legendary Pimp. Ludo had no beef with him and wanted things to stay that way. There were several urban legends surrounding The Pimp and Ludo firmly believed that where there was smoke there was fire, better safe than sorry, and a rolling stone will answer quicker than a stone lounging in the sun.

Ludo backed away from the door. It was fairly obvious to Ludo that Didymus was the only occupant of the large house. He wondered if The One-Eyed Pimp had wreaked some sort of havoc and that was the reason for the absence of any other beings in the house. He wondered where the Old Man and the Hat were. They had to be hiding from the terrible One-Eyed Pimp. Why was the Pimp calling out and asking if the ladies were safe? This smelled bad. It smelled as bad as a polecat eating a Limburger cheese sandwich in a summertime outhouse.

Ludo decided that discretion was important in this case. He turned and walked as quietly as possible back to his car, taking worried note of the skid marks and scuffs in the parking lot. He got into the car and quickly left. As he pulled out of the driveway onto the road, he pondered whether he should report the unusual situation to The King of the Underground first or go in search of the Old Man. He realized he had no idea where the Old Man might hide out and decided to report first. The King was always very interested in developing news of this sort.

Ludo turned on the radio and began to hum along with the music. He sat back in the car seat and began to sing in a terribly off-key voice.

"Woo woo, Cha noo ga choo choo."


	5. Chapter 4: The Woman in the Red Dress

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Chapter Four

The Woman in the Red Dress

When the woman in the red dress walked into the Peach Pit, the musicians skipped a beat, the dancers missed a step and the customers caught their collective breath. She wore a black wool fedora with a red band and feather cocked at an angle on her sleek brunette hair. Black strappy heels encased her feet and silk stockings wrapped a pair of legs that went all the way up. Those that did not know her were struck by her beauty and the cool confidence shimmering in her green eyes. Those that did know her realized that the evening might get very interesting and dangerous. The timid paid their tab and scurried out the door. The brave ordered another round and waited for the fireworks.

She stalked across the room and headed down the hall to the wooden door.

"Open up," she said to the door knocker holding a large bronze ring in its mouth.

"O uck urvelv," said the knocker around the ring. The knocker was very new on the job and sadly didn't know any better.

She grasped the door knocker's nose and held tight. The knocker held its breath as long as it could but then gasped for air. She yanked the ring out of its mouth and before it could say a word began slamming the ring down over its head.

The door knocker screamed and cringed and the door slammed open on its hinges. The King, who had been lazily parked in his chair, leapt to his feet, conjuring glitter and crystals all over himself in his fright. His glass of bourbon was upset, his snappy hat fell off and he lost his place in his girly magazine.

She shoved the ring back into the door knocker's mouth and glared into its stunned eyes.

"You just watch what you say to a lady," she hissed with fire sizzling in her ferocious green eyes. She stomped into the room.

The door knocker whimpered and the door slammed shut. A dim sound of applause could be heard from the other side of the door, as a group of brave souls that had got up to watch the festivities expressed their approval.

Ludo the Enforcer, who had walked in moments after Sarah, also applauded loudly. He even hooted a bit. The crowd regarded him nervously, but no one left. With Sarah on the scene, and now The Enforcer as well, there would be endless possibilities for great stories of mayhem to tell for years to come. The gleeful spectators knew that having stories of this caliber would mean that they would be welcome at every drinking establishment in town and never have to buy their own drinks again. Provided, of course, that the spectators survived the actual mayhem.

Sarah turned to survey The King. He was sadly aware that he had lost any advantage he would have ever had in this conversation. Glitter was everywhere, crystals were hovering about in a ridiculous manner. He became aware of one hovering right in front of his left shoulder. He lifted his right hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and popped the offending crystal. He was further disheartened when it showered him with more glitter. He took a long breath.

"So," he said with a large and cheesy grin. "Have you come to apologize for your inexplicably rude behavior in ignoring me at The Café?"

"I had an interesting conversation with a mutual friend," she snapped, disregarding his opening gambit.

"If you're talking about that idiot, Hogbog," The King snarled, "he's no friend of mine."

"Who said anything about Hoggle?" she said, narrowing her eyes, placing her fists on his desk and leaning toward him with menace. "What exactly might he have to say, Jareth?"

Jareth, King of the Underground, was pleased to hear her use his given name. In fact, he was as pleased as an aardvark with an exterminator's license. Anyone else, he would have made disappear with malice aforethought, but the lovely Sarah could call him anything she wanted. He was so taken with his name on her lips that it took him a moment to realize he had made a tactical error in assuming their mutual stool pigeon friend was Hoggle. Obviously he was still in shock from the surprising assault upon the obnoxious door knocker.

He frantically tried to think of anyone else who might have been having conversations with Sarah that would reflect badly upon himself. He was drawing a blank. Sweat was beginning to pop on his brow as his brain stuttered to a halt under her icy emerald gaze.

"I've got to pull myself together," he thought.

"Nuts to you," replied his brain and instructed his hands to remove their gloves and pet her silky brown hair.

Through sheer force of will, he ordered his hands to keep their gloves on and stay off the hair.

"Well," she said in a frighteningly soft manner. "What does Hoggle have to say, Jareth?"

"Never mind Hoggle," said Jareth, as his blown out faculties regained enough steam to resume chugging again. "Who is this mutual friend with the big mouth? More to the point, what are you upset about, Precious Thing?"

"Did you divert a truckload of goblin ale for yourself? And by divert I mean STEAL, GOBLIN KING?" she roared the last three words.

"Well, even if I did, and I'm not saying I did, what concern is it of yours?" he replied in his haughtiest voice, trying not to stare at her chest.

"Did you know one of my trucks was stolen?" she said softly, "a truck carrying a full load of Old Squeaker's Finest Goblin Ale?"

Oops. He did not know that. He did know some very stupid henchmen were going to find themselves in a very smelly situation, though. And who the devil had squealed about this… unfortunate mistake?

"Really, Sarah," he soothed. "Surely you know I wouldn't dream of causing you any distress in any way."

"Oh, of course not," she replied, "but just to satisfy my curiosity, I believe I'll examine the stock of ale in this less than fine establishment."

She turned and headed for the door. The knocker heard her coming and desperately flung the door open.

Jareth grabbed his hat and slammed it onto his head backwards. The feather in his hatband protruded to the front and made him look like a panic stricken unicorn as he scrambled around his desk in a limb flailing dither, crashed into a couple of glitter filled crystals, thus further decorating himself in a scandalous manner, and chased her down the hall.

The gathered assembly of brave souls retreated to a safe distance as Sarah headed for the bar. Every bar stool was immediately emptied, as customers grabbed their drinks and scampered out of the way. The musicians stopped entirely to watch, took up their complimentary drinks and lit cigarettes. The current dancer, a kangaroo woman named Sweet Matilda, hopped over to the edge of the stage and sat down to catch the show.

The elf bartender froze in place. His only exit was cut off when Sarah came striding behind the bar.

"You," she said, pointing a terrifying finger at him. "Where do you keep the ale?"

Behind Sarah, The King was frantically motioning for silence, but the bartender knew where the greater danger was; right in front of him, waving her finger, in fact, so he merely stood aside and pointed to the massive built-in ice chest under the bar.

She threw open the door to the chest and stared at the contents.

She stood looking down at the chest in complete silence for several very long seconds. A hush had fallen over the Peach Pit. No one wanted to miss a word. Spectators leaned forward, holding their breath in anticipation. Jareth felt a bead of sweat run down his back. The atmosphere was as tense as a rubber band holding up a bowling ball.

"Well, if it isn't Old Squeaker's Finest Goblin Ale," she said quietly. A collective gasp came from the crowd. They hadn't been privy to the conversation in The King's office, so they didn't understand the significance of the brand name, but they still felt that this was probably an important plot point.

She turned toward The King. He was standing behind her, wadding the end of his magnificent blue tie in trembling hands.

"Now, Sarah," he said in his most persuasive manner, "I had no idea that was in there. I'm sure there's been a terrible mistake."

"Oh, I'm sure," she smiled up at him. Now that she had him cornered, she intended to torment him.

He backed away from her as she stepped toward him. He didn't have much room to maneuver and quickly found himself pinned against the counter running behind the bar. Sarah checked the angle of her fedora in the mirror running the length of the wall above the counter and then stepped forward again. She took hold of The King's biceps and pressed her body against him. He was wide-eyed with lust and fear. He dropped the end of his tie and cautiously put his arms around her, just because he couldn't help himself.

She felt something very hard against her abdomen.

"WHAT'S THIS?" she shrieked with indignation. "WERE YOU PLANNING TO USE THIS ON ME?"

The drummer, perhaps the most alert goblin in the crowd, began a drum roll on his snare.

She thrust her hand down the front of The King's pants and grabbed onto an extremely rigid object. She yanked the object out of his pants.

The drummer hit his cymbal in a perfect sting.

A near silent pandemonium erupted behind her as the spectators writhed in their seats and flailed about on the floor, simultaneously choking back screams and gasps, too afraid to make a sound, but completely unable to hold still in their shock and glee. Drinks were spilled, chairs were overturned, backs were pounded, pants were wet, but not a word, squeak or garbled choke of gibberish was uttered.

Sarah inspected the snub-nosed 38 revolver in her hands.

"Seriously, Jareth, do you not know that is the worst possible place you could conceal a loaded weapon?" she asked.

Jareth was as immobile as a block of terrified ice. He was unarmed and outmaneuvered. His hat had fallen off again. His hands quivered loosely on her waist.

"There's only one bullet in this thing," she said.

More pandemonium occurred behind her.

She glanced down and noticed that there was still a significant bulge in his britches.

"What else have you got in there, wise guy?" she snapped and dropping the revolver on the counter behind him, she stuffed both hands down his pants and began rummaging furiously for weapons.

As she felt around in the confined space, she gradually became aware of a few things. Firstly, the only thing she had found, was most assuredly supposed to be there; it was wonderfully warm, silky smooth, extremely firm and rather hefty. Secondly, Jareth was clutching her upper arms with a vice-like grip; his head was on her shoulder and he seemed to be completely out of breath. Thirdly, she was beginning to feel rather warm in certain areas.

"I'd be happy to use that on you," Jareth gasped.

The room erupted into cheers and thunderous applause. Elves and trolls formed a deliriously happy kick line by the door, while goblins wept in each other's arms. This surely would be the story that paid the way for all of their drinking for the rest of their lives.

Sarah's face was as red as her dress. She let go of Jareth's weapon and removed her hands from his pants. She walked briskly from behind the bar and began to stomp across the room.

"Ludo," The King panted. "Stop her!"

Ludo hung his head, refusing to meet The King's eyes.

"Sawah fwend," he said.

Sarah paused at the door.

"I'll send you the bill for that ale," she said, "AND the truck!" She threw the door open and disappeared into the night.

The King leaned quietly on the bar, glaring at the door. The noise quickly dissipated. With Sarah gone, The King was once again the most frightening being in the Peach Pit, and he appeared to be very upset. The spectators hastily and quietly made their way out the door and into a new world of free drinks. Matilda, the dancer, hopped over to the musicians and accepted a hit off of the bass player's reefer as they all quietly congratulated the drummer on his showmanship.

It became very quiet. The King was still doing a slow burn, when there was a sudden screech of tires on pavement. Sirens and lights filled the air.

"Raid!" yelled the musicians and everyone beat it for the back door.

As The King bolted down the alley, he sadly realized that he had forgotten his snappy hat. He transformed into his owl form as he rounded the corner and flew away, hooting disconsolately.


	6. Chapter 5: Comeuppance

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Chapter Five

Comeuppance

It was nearly the third hour when a small barn owl touched down on the sidewalk. The owl shook itself and then became… something else. The little bell over the door rang when the slender fae with bizarre, unevenly chopped yellow hair and pale, sleek skin came in. He looked weary. He was wearing a navy pinstriped Zoot suit, but he seemed to have misplaced his hat. Silver chains hung from his pocket. The cuffs of his wrinkled pants fell in an asymmetrical fashion at his scuffed patent leather shoes. The magnificent blue tie at the throat of his white silk shirt was crumpled and wrinkled at the end. One of his suspenders seemed to be sagging. The top button on his trousers had popped. His eyebrows swept up and dark markings surrounded his beautiful eyes with the oddly asymmetrical blue irises and exquisitely long, dark lashes. His incredibly handsome face was marred by fear. He paused at the door and peered in distrustfully.

He ducked his head under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and sat down on a barstool in the middle of the long, chipped Formica counter, He ordered coffee and quickly took in his surroundings. The only other occupants were the counterman and a couple of goblins, who were obviously taxi drivers on a break.

The counterman sat the coffee in front of The King. The King of the Underground searched about in his pockets until he found some change and placed it on the counter. When he went to sip his coffee, he found that a surprising amount of glitter had fallen into his cup. He sighed heavily. Further observation showed that the countertop and the floor around him also had a fair bit of glitter. The counterman glared at him.

"Thanks for the mess, pal. I really enjoy sweeping, ya' know," groused the counterman.

The King hung his head and avoided the counterman's eye. He was too depressed to squash the uppity little bug like he ought to. Besides, it would wreck his shoes. The counterman stood at least five and a half feet tall, not counting his antennae and he looked to be very… juicy.

The King flinched when the bell over the door rang again, but relaxed when Ludo sat down on the stool beside him.

"What are you doing here, you useless mop?" he snapped.

Ludo removed his hat. He started to place it on the countertop, but when he noticed the glitter, he paused and then sat his hat on the stool next to him. Ludo was feeling very embarrassed about how the night had went, and had no reply for the disgruntled King.

"Just let her walk right out, eh?" snarled The King. "Well, well. How about the Old Man? I don't see the Hat so you must have the five grand, right?"

"No," Ludo said sadly.

"Useless!" snapped The King. "I don't suppose you have any idea who's been squealing to Sarah, do you? Besides that miserable Hogface, that is."

"Pimp," said Ludo.

"What?" said The King.

"Sawah say Pimp tell," rumbled Ludo.

"Sarah says... What do you mean, 'Sarah says'? Have you been talking to her, too?" The King was red-faced and sizzling with anger. He slammed his fist down on the counter and a small lightning bolt popped through the air.

The counterman's eyes widened and he began to reconsider his earlier rudeness. He turned back to the sink. His four hands feverishly washed and dried as he made himself as busy as a spider simultaneously playing eight games of Whack-A-Mole.

"Ludo sowwy," the large orange hulk said nervously.

"I am surrounded by treason," The King exclaimed, rising to his feet and waving his arms about. "I need something to kick," he growled.

"You there," he snapped at the taxi goblins, "Come here!"

The taxi goblins looked at him as if he were a recently escaped madman wielding a machete. They dropped their sandwiches and bolted for the door.

The King sighed, his momentary rage spent. He sat back down.

"So," he said. "What does the One-Eyed Pimp have to do with my business?"

"Dunno," said Ludo.

"I suppose he's upset with me for some reason?" said The King. "I've not been frequenting his establishment as of late, but that's hardly a reason for him to interfere is it?"

"Nope."

"I don't suppose he was the one who called the cops tonight?" mused The King.

"Dunno."

The King pondered this state of affairs. Why on earth was the One-Eyed Pimp talking to Sarah? Had the Pimp suddenly turned informant? Why would a dangerous Underground figure like the One-Eyed Pimp stoop to such a thing?

He began to feel nervous. If the Pimp was talking to Sarah, he was surely talking to others. His whole operation might be in jeopardy. He began to wish that he'd squeezed Hoggle for a little information before he bogged him.

The bell over the door jingled.

*"So what's a nice place like this doing around a man like you?"*

He looked up. She was standing at his elbow; a vision in red, warm and alive and right next to him. He could almost feel her hands touching him again. He gave her a wide and open smile before he could even think of guarding his expression.

She blushed, and then looked angry because she was blushing. His smile became a smirk. Perhaps she had nice memories, too.

Ludo huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Have a seat, Sarah," Jareth said and gestured to the empty stool next to him.

She sat down. She leaned around Jareth and said "Hey Ludo."

"Hi Sawah," Ludo replied.

The King glared at Ludo with narrowed eyes. Ludo hung his head.

"So, Sarah," Jareth began without preamble. "You've been talking to the One-Eyed Pimp."

"Didymus? Yes, why?" She turned to the counterman and ordered coffee. The counterman scuttled over and deposited the cup, while keeping a nervous eye on The King, before returning to his dishes.

Jareth waited with impatience while the coffee transaction was made and glared at the counterman.

"Do you think it wise to converse with someone that… dangerous?" he asked.

Sarah looked blankly at him for a moment. She realized that he looked almost fearful at the mention of the One-Eyed Pimp. She then noticed the expression on Ludo's face as well. Did these two actually believe the stories about Didymus? He was about as dangerous as a sleepy kitten full of milk and whiskey. She was astounded. Didymus was a dear, but he was also an idiot. And from the looks on these two mugs, he might not be the only one.

"You let me worry about that, Jareth," she said.

He gave her another wide smile when she used his name, showing bright, crooked teeth in his adorable, jagged, little shark mouth. She wanted to touch his handsome face, but kept her hands to herself.

"Actually there's something else we need to talk about," she said.

"What's that, Precious?" he said, frowning at the glitter contaminating his coffee cup.

"You're under arrest."

"What?" he said, meeting her gaze; his eyes wide and stunned.

Ludo's head came up. He looked confused.

She put her badge on the countertop. It showed a dull gleam in the fluorescent light.

"What charges?" he sputtered, still staring in disbelief at the badge.

"Owl walking."

"Oh, you're got to be kidding me," he snapped. "Why don't I just pay you the five bucks right here?"

"Glittering."

The counterman snickered.

"So make it ten bucks," growled Jareth, glaring at the counterman.

"Facts evasion."

Everyone froze. Jareth was thunderstruck. He sat motionless and looked at her, with his mind whirling. She reached across and snapped a pair of cuffs on him, making sure that his shirt sleeves were between the metal and his skin.

"No time manipulating, Jareth," she said sadly.

"The cuffs are cold iron, aren't they," he said in an expressionless voice.

"Yes, and the cops are waiting outside."

"Looks like they're inside, too," he said, still in that flat voice.

She flushed.

"I guess that wasn't your truck, after all," he said.

"No."

"Well, you had me fooled," he said and looked away from her.

"I'm not going to apologize for doing my job, Jareth," she said quietly.

"Is there anything you DO want to apologize for?" he smirked, regaining his aplomb at last.

She looked intently into his eyes as a tiny smile made it halfway across her lips.

"I regret nothing," she said.

She watched as four trolls in police uniform laid paws on him and dragged him out the door. She went to the window and watched as they bundled him into the car and drove away. He looked back at her the whole time, until the car was out of sight.

She turned to the counterman. "Clean up this damn glitter," she said and stomped out the door.

The counterman looked at Ludo in bafflement.

"Mow coffee?" said Ludo.

_* This line contributed by Ellen Weaver._


	7. Epilogue: Last Words

_This is a fanfic. All Labyrinth characters belong to Henson, et al._

**NIGHT HAWKS**

Epilogue

Last Words

It was nearly the third hour. Ludo was sitting in a large chair across from The King's desk. The King was being uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn't conjured any crystals all day and there wasn't a speck of glitter to be seen. He slumped in the chair behind his desk and regarded his shoes as they sat flat on the floor. He hadn't even propped his feet up on the desk. Ludo was a little worried about The King's lack of interest.

Outside of the office, the usual din of iniquity could be heard. The Peach Pit was busy tonight. The band was thumping and the dancers were humping. Drinks were poured and debts were scored. The King paid no attention and had not left his office at all.

Ludo looked The King over. The King of the Underground was wearing a very plain grey suit with no hat and no gloves. His wild hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail at his nape. He looked like an accountant who had just been told that the zero had quit working on his adding machine.

Ludo thought The King would have been happy. He had only spent about two hours in jail before his madcap lawyer had bailed him out. Denny had assured Ludo that they had nothing to fear since "women aren't reliable witnesses." Ludo didn't have a lot of faith in Denny's abilities as a lawyer, but he had absolute faith in the truckload of Old Squeaker's Finest Goblin Ale that was now hidden in the garage of the friendly judge's summer home.

Ludo guessed that The King probably wasn't happy about Hoggle being rescued. He probably wasn't happy that he still didn't have his five grand from the Old Man yet, either, but after all, he'd get it eventually. Probably.

He should be happy about the One-Eyed Pimp being in the hospital. The story going around was that the Pimp had been in a knock down drag out fight with Jack Frost and while the Pimp had, of course, won, he had also sustained some frost bite injuries. It was further rumored that Jack Frost would be out of town until late fall, so it was probably true.

Ludo felt a twinge of guilt about the whole Sarah thing, but he hadn't known that Sarah was actually an undercover Underground cop. Ludo thought The King had forgiven him even though he hadn't actually said so, because Ludo hadn't been bogged. Not that there was anyone that could actually put him in the bog. Perhaps those four idiot trolls? Not likely. Ludo reflected that he hadn't seen Sarah around since that night in The Café. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

Suddenly Ludo and The King both jumped to their feet as the door slammed open with a bang.

Sarah walked into the room, giving the door knocker a threatening glare. The knocker carefully avoided eye contact and quickly closed behind her.

Speak of the devil, thought Ludo.

"Well," said The King flatly. "If it isn't you."

"Yeah, it's me," said Sarah softly.

"Have any more ugly surprises for me?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I just wanted to tell you that you won."

"What?" Jareth's head snapped up. He was always happy to hear he had won something.

"Turns out, I've been a sucker. Your pals in the police department and the mayor's office have gotten the charges thrown out and all my work was for nothing. No promotion, no corner office and I may actually find myself writing parking tickets on Main Street," she said roughly.

Jareth looked carefully at her. She was really very angry.

"Surely you don't blame me for being who I am?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "actually I don't. You've probably been the most honest of all the jerks I've dealt with in the last six months."

"You charged me with facts evasion," he said.

"You're guilty," she glared at him.

He grinned. "Well, yes, I suppose I am," he smirked.

"Well, I hope you're happy. My career is over and you're getting away, free as a bird."

"You came by to just tell me that?" he asked. "Surely that is injurious to your sizeable pride."

"No," she barked. "I came by to tell you goodbye. I'm leaving town tonight." She turned toward the door.

"Do you want a job?" he hurriedly asked.

"What?" She looked as flabbergasted as a duck that just hatched an alligator egg.

"Do. You. Want. A. Job," He repeated.

"I'm a cop. You're a crook. Have you lost your mind?" she sputtered.

"You WERE a cop," he said, "and I'm hardly something as déclassé as a crook."

Ludo carefully looked at Sarah. She looked angry. Her eyes were sparkling with rage. No. Not rage. Something else. Ludo looked at The King. The same sparkle. Ah, well then. Silly human woman. Silly fae man.

"Sawah," said Ludo.

"Yes, Ludo," she replied without taking her eyes off The King.

"Weapons. Betteh fwisk him." The rock caller's eyes twinkled with merriment. He turned and went to open the door, frightening the door knocker very much.

He grinned at The King's astounded expression and closed the door behind him.

There was a moment of quiet as the two antagonists gazed across the warm and beckoning space between them.

"Up against the wall," Sarah said, with a tiny smile.

Jareth's smile was much broader.

"Come and get me, Copper."

The End


End file.
